Elsewhen
by Scribbler
Summary: [one shot] Futurefic. Pietro reflects on life, death, and unwanted, unwelcome fatherhood ... to another man's child. Where's Jerry Springer when you need him?


DISCLAIMER ~ All characters specified herein belong to Marvel and KidsWB, not me. No profit - no harm - so no sending the crazed chipmunks to nibble me to death.  
  
A/N ~ This ficlet stems from the fact that I'm endeavouring to read Nick Hornby's 'About A Boy' right now, and I quite early on ran across a line that reminded me so much of Pietro it would have been a crime *not* to write a story around it. In some respects, Will and the speedster are so similar it's scary. However, when they cast the movie anon, I doubt they would've snagged Hugh Grant if a white wig and teal cat-suit had been in the offing. Doubtless it would've considerably boosted their revenue, though.  
  
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'Elsewhen' By Scribbler  
  
February 2004  
  
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They had, quite literally, left him holding the baby.  
  
It was the right sort of weather for a funeral. The sun had not been seen all day, instead taking refuge under a bank of grey cloud. It was as if it knew it would not be welcome on this gloomy September morning. An insistent chill sat on the air, reminding the world that Winter was on its way. It forced coats to be buttoned tight and collars drawn up. One or two people had even blown on their reddened hands during the journey from wrought iron gate to the plot under the clutch of poplars.  
  
Pietro stood at the foot of the newly filled graves. His expression was incongruous, in that it bespoke nothing so much as annoyance.   
  
He had put mourning out of his mind the moment he got out of bed today, instead choosing to focus on the practicalities of his current situation. It was the way he always dealt with things that bothered him. Later, maybe, he'd indulge in the kind of mawkish sentimentalism that had sent several people in the church into paroxysms of weeping – something that stirred a seed of deeper resentment in him, though he was loath to admit it.   
  
Half of those in attendance hadn't even known them – not really. Workmates, students, old acquaintances; yadda yadda yadda. They'd come out of duty, because they were expected to show their faces by somebody or other, but little else.   
  
And him? Why was he really here? Why had he stayed behind after everyone else left, braving the media swarm outside the gates to get to their cars?  
  
A large part of the answer was asleep and clinging to the back of his head in an impossible position. Had he not been so sure of her grip, he might have walked up here as if on eggshells to prevent her falling off.   
  
Pietro pursed his lips, looking at the graves. Of course, they'd chosen to be buried together. It was a Mutants Only cemetery just outside Bayville, the spotty little town where they'd both spent the majority of their lives. He remembered Wanda once saying that her life hadn't really begun until she landed in that chronic case of suburbia, but he hadn't really been listening at the time. He rarely did. It had taken a note taped to the freezer compartment to tell him she'd moved out.  
  
"You know, you could win awards for your idiocy," he said to the left grave. There was a single red rose laid across the headstone. The right bore an identical white one. How sweet. "Great plan. It could win the General Custer's Award for Forward Thinking. Do you have any idea what you've done?"  
  
Silence. Well, what else had he been expecting?   
  
He toed the dirt; confident his little limpet would hold on regardless.   
  
*His* little limpet.  
  
Oh boy.  
  
If they'd still been alive, he would've killed them. Slowly and painfully. And there would've been wooden spoons involved. Maybe even a lemon juicer, if he was feeling adventurous.  
  
How dare they work things so he was in this position. He didn't have a legal leg to stand on, and they *knew* his stance on - ugh - children.   
  
He cast his mind back to just short of one year ago, when he'd braved visiting the Xavier mansion to pay the prerequisite call on the Proud New Parents. He rarely went, part of him still viewing Wanda's defecting thence as some sort of betrayal - which was totally illogical, since boundaries between their two teams were no longer worth anything. Still, it was expected for him to go. So he had made the trip and sat alone in the common room while they presented him with their firstborn child.  
  
It had been a drooling ball of fluff, as he recalled, all wrapped up in a pick blanket that clashed horribly with the fur. He'd held it at arms length, before Wanda's perennial glower forced him to draw it closer, whereupon it had dribbled white spit and mucus all over his Prada shirt.   
  
Wanda had watched him with irritated suspicion the whole time. Like he was really going to do anything to hurt the little sproglet? He valued his spleen far too much, thank you. Besides which, he really wanted nothing to do with it in the first place. Children and the idea of them left him cold, and he was more than happy to pass the child back to its mother ASAP. No cooing or idiotic babble-talk for him.   
  
When asked if holding the thing inspired desire for a family of his own he'd actually snorted, and half considered launching into a litany against rearing a brood when one had the means to enter old age quite comfortably without them. After all, he considered kids a simple resource – someone to look after you when you were old and doddery and drooled into your cornflakes.  
  
So it had come as a complete surprise when Fuzz-butt asked him to be the brat's godfather.   
  
"Godfather?" he'd repeated incredulously. "You mean church and things? Birthday presents, Christmas dinners, adoption if you meet some horrible splattery death in a remote, backwards, pygmy-infested region of the world?"  
  
"Jawohl."   
  
The soothing hand on Wanda's arm told Pietro his sister had not been the instigator of this little proposal. The deepening of her glower finished the thought.  
  
Kurt just sat there with an expectant smile, as if Pietro was supposed to jump up, beat his breast, burst into tears and wrestle them to the carpet in a euphoric embrace. Instead, he just looked between their faces and the kid with stark disbelief.   
  
"You're joking, right? This is some new-parent ritual I've never heard about."  
  
"No. We – *I* thought you'd make a good godfather. I always thought you had hidden depths."  
  
"Ah, well, that's where things fall down. You see, I really am this shallow."  
  
"Very funny, Pietro - "  
  
"No, really I am. If Fury hadn't made me sign that contract I'd sell my teammates for a good pairs of shoes. Furthermore, I couldn't think of anything worse than agreeing to be some Marlon Brando character to your snivelling, snot-nosed little ball of blue fluff."  
  
The visit hadn't lasted long after that.   
  
However, contrary to its conclusion, Wanda had somehow managed to twist her brother's arm into being godfather anyway. It had mattered to Kurt, therefore it mattered to her, and he had been forced to endure the entire procedure for fear of having headquarters redecorated with his entrails. Apparently, it was possible to write out several of the amendments with a single intestine if one really tried.  
  
The grip on the back of his head shifted, pulling out a few white hairs. Pietro winced, and had he not feared enduring the brat's yowling he might have reached around to readjust the little hands and feet lodged above his earlobes.   
  
As it turned out, there was no need. A small blue head hove into view, staring at him upside-down. It was dominated by ridiculously large, gold eyes, and blinked owlishly. The lashes were far too long and far too bushy, giving the impression of feathers secured in place with superglue.   
  
Blink, blink.  
  
To his surprise there was no crying, nor snuffling prelude to the kind of all-out bawling that frequently forced him to cross the street away from toddler-filled strollers. Instead, the little face twisted slightly, trying to see him right-side-up without losing the grip on his scalp. She seemed more curious than upset, despite having recently sat through the dual funeral of both parents.   
  
She squeaked when the attempt ended in a foot coming loose, and had he been anyone else his reflexes might not have been enough to catch the falling collection of blue fur and overalls. Once caught, he didn't know quite what to do with it, and so copied what he'd seen on TV by forming an awkward cradle with his arms, half convinced – or was that hoping? – she'd fall out and scuttle away.  
  
He flinched when a small faced buried itself in the crook of his elbow, seemingly unconcerned he was the uncle who had visited maybe three times since she was born. The child snuggled, tail wrapping around his forearm, and yawned wide a mouth containing sharp, white teeth. Honestly, it was big enough to garage a Buick. He dreaded to think what feeding this little monster would be like, given her father's infamous appetite.  
  
He eyed the graves again.   
  
_Why me? I told you plenty of times that I'm just not father material. When not dump the kid with someone who actually *wants* her? The Summers' brood might have been a good idea. They already have two - what's one more? And furthermore, they *like* children. Only the criminally stupid and naturally talented become teachers, and much as it pains me to say it, they're not part of the first group._  
  
Something grabbed his thumb. He looked down and tried hard not to think of adjectives like 'cute' or 'adorable'.   
  
"Let's get something straight, okay? You're with me because my sister and her fuzzy-brained husband don't know how to take a hint or stay out of trouble. However, they know their legal jargon well enough. Therefore, this is going to be a not-necessarily brilliant learning experience for the both of us… uh…" He fumbled for a name. He'd been told it before, he knew he had, but right now it escaped him utterly.  
  
It began with a T, that much was certain. Tess? Trish? Theresa? Tallulah? Tangerine? The 'Ta' part sounded about right. Now he just needed another syllable or two.  
  
"Nunkie." She stuck his thumb in her mouth and suckled endearingly.  
  
"Oh - " Pietro checked himself "-fudge it."  
  
Talia! That was it. That was her name. Talia J… Jo… Josephine!  
  
Talia Josephine Wagner, his niece.  
  
_Oh shit, I'm a nunkie._  
  
"Nunkie."  
  
"Yeah, yeah. And here I go for a stroll into the unknown with a white cane." He transferred his gaze from the graves to the sky. "One of these days, something normal is going to happen to me, I swear."  
  
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FIN.  
  
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End file.
